


Moving On

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 1000-3000 words, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set just post-Call of the Wild.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> Set just post-Call of the Wild.

Fraser's a little startled when, after just one night spent recovering at the Mountie outpost, Ray informs him that they need to pack up and go on their adventure _now_.

"Ray," he says, "an expedition like this takes careful planning and packing—"

"Fraser. If we take time to think about it, we'll figure out that it's stupid."

"Right you are." So Fraser asks Frobisher for a few rudimentary supplies, and Frobisher immediately starts handing over what appears to be every piece of equipment and clothing and food in the outpost. Fraser has to decline the majority for lack of room. The only thing that takes a bit of persuasion to acquire is the two-man sleeping bag.

"For warmth,' he says.

"Good god, Benton. It's not that cold. It's barely frigid. You got soft, down in the States."

"_I_ don't need it, Sergeant, but Ray—"

"Ah, yes. Gotta coddle the Yank a bit. Not really up to this sort of thing?"

And Fraser finds himself bristling at that simple truth. "He's _city_ fit, sir," he says.

*********************************************************

They stop for a meal a few hours in, and Fraser's amused to find that Ray begged or bought some Mountie's stash of chocolate bars. They split one and he's feeling an odd lassitude, leaning back against the sled, warmed by chocolate and talking. So much has happened in the last few days that his mind ought to be whirling, but every time he closes his eyes he only sees one scene: his mother, reaching up to caress his cheek--he's almost sure he _felt_ that--and then taking his father's hand, the two of them walking away.

"Frase? You okay, there?"

He blinks. "Yes, I--" and surprises himself by saying, "My father's gone."

Ray raises his eyebrows.

"Well, yes, I know he's _been_ gone, it's just--" he pauses for a second, considers actually explaining. But while Ray seems comfortable with his being from another planet, he has a feeling that might mark him as being from another _galaxy._

"I feel like--now that I've, _we've_ wrapped up his last case, settled all his loose ends--he's really gone."

Ray nods, keeps his head down and asks, "You sure you need to be out here, all that going on?"

"No place I'd rather be," and that gets him a quick smile, and they pack up to push on.

**************************************************************

Ray insists on being shown how to do every single step of setting up camp for the night--"Not gonna be dead weight, here, Frase," so setting up camp takes a very long time indeed.

Fraser finds himself waiting for the sleeping bag question, and he has a long, entirely true explanation ready about conserving body heat. But Ray just pulls the one bag off the sled, stuffs it into the tent and disappears.

When Fraser checks on him a couple of minutes later he's already unconscious, just a tuft of hair poking out of the top of the bag and a faint snoring noise. Fraser smiles and then feels a familiar jolt of guilt--it's _Ray_ who doesn't need to be out here, bruised and exhausted and so recently hypothermic. He'll bundle him up and take him back tomorrow, objections or no.

He stargazes for a while--and god, he's missed them--then checks on Dief and the dogs one last time. (Dief insists on being thought of separately from "the dogs"—Fraser's had long talks with him about speciesism, but the wolf remains intransigent.)

And then he crawls into the tent, into the bag. And truly, he wants nothing more than to sleep cocooned with the heat of Ray, to have one night with Ray's smell and the Northern silence too.

But his body is not going along with this plan. His body has made another plan.

"Oh dear," he whispers. He is _never_ going to sleep tonight.

He lies there for a long time, trying yogic breathing, doing square roots in his head, picturing disapproving looks from the Queen, anything. And matters do not improve, matters get more achy and awkward in fact, this is impossible, god, he _has_ to take Ray back tomorrow because he can't _do_ this.

Out of sheer frustration he finds himself whispering to his father. "You know, this is the kind of situation where you could _perhaps_ have provided some useful advice. But even when you were around you would have said something cryptic about--ice caves and hardtack, and now you're _gone_, very helpful."

And then it hits him. Gone. _Really_ gone, not maybe invisibly watching, not maybe about to pop up and disapprove loudly at the worst possible second. Gone.

"Oh god," he says, and he's _shaking_ next to Ray. He reaches over to put his hand on Ray's face, and really that's all he means to do, cup his angled cheek and run a thumb across his lips, but when he does Ray stirs, mumbles "Gnrg? Flmbl," and _wiggles_ closer to him, god. He's still asleep, he probably thinks it's _Stella_, but Fraser kisses him anyway, a gentle dry brush of lips. And then Ray's whole body twitches and he says, clearly, "Fraser?"

"Yes," Fraser says, and his voice cracks, he sounds twelve years old.

"Just checking," Ray says, puts an arm around him, wiggles closer still.

And Fraser has one last attack of honour and duty and this isn't _fair_ to Ray, he's still half-unconscious and tired and bruised and ill and can't possibly be making a fully informed decision, and then Ray's mouth opens under his and _fuck_ being fair, just _fuck_ it.

***********************************************************************

"You're sure he can't see us?"

"Not anymore," Caroline says. They're standing outside the tent but leaning their heads in _through_ it, a bit disconcerting.

Bob's got his hand on the back of her neck, moving his thumb up and down; it's the tinest of caresses but he can't stop, hasn't stopped touching her since she took his hand. He'd thought he remembered how good she felt but he hadn't, and that was a blessing, he couldn't have gone on as long as he did if he'd remembered.

Caroline is smiling fondly at the proceedings but Bob keeps tilting his head, grimacing, occasionally wincing.

"I was stopping him from doing _that_?" he says.

"Apparently."

"Well," he says. "Lord god, I don't know why anyone would _want_ to do that, but if it makes him happy..."

"Yes," she says, smiles at him. "It's time to really go now."

"Ah," he says. "Yes. I just had to...check on him one last time."

She laughs, puts an arm around him and they're moving over the snow, just barely ruffling the surface. "You're always so obsessive when you're packing up to go anywhere. You used to check that the oil lanterns were out over and over..."

"Well, I did manage to burn the place down once, it's not like I didn't have a reason. Is there a guidebook for this next part?"

"There's me," she says, and their voices break up and scatter in the wind, and they're gone.

 

\--END--


End file.
